


Books and Coffee and Mistletoe

by rustling_pages



Series: Books and Coffee and Magic [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Christmas Fluff, Dean Needs To Deal With Stuff, Domestic Fluff, Guest appearances, Living Together, M/M, Relationship Means Communication, Unsubtle Book Recs Pt. 2, allusions to sex, mistletoe kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-20 10:38:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13144902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustling_pages/pseuds/rustling_pages
Summary: “I know it is not a conversation you want to have, Dean,” Castiel carefully nudges his partner to sit down, “but we need to talk about Christmas.”Timestamp for 2017 DCBB 'Noveltea & Coffee'.





	1. December 23rd

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who had no intention of writing a Christmas timestamp, and then ended up with almost 9k...
> 
> Also, I finished this way too late, but there's no way I'm waiting to post until next Christmas. 
> 
> Seeing as this is a part of my 'Noveltea & Coffee' universe, it's probably better if you read that fic first, but I suppose it can sort of stand on its own as domestic fluff within an established relationship.
> 
> What should probably know is that Dean owns a coffee shop that also has plenty of books on its shelves, and that most people have an ability (or even an assortment), such as Dean being an empath (meaning he can feel what other people feel, particularly those he is close to) and an emoter (he can also project his own emotion onto others). Castiel has the rather extraordinary ability to affect things positively on a larger scale - as long as his motives for it are altruistic. He's been helping Dean's coffee shop out, and friendship became love, and love became angst, and angst became joy and lots of sex. 
> 
> For those of you who have read my DCBB, this is set between the Epilogue and the Bonus Chapter, and much like those two chapters, it is mostly just Dean and Cas getting to be together and happy and working on their relationship. 
> 
> Enjoy and a late Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! :D

Their first Christmas together, it is just the two of them in the recently officially shared apartment over the coffee shop. There are plans to go to Anna’s place in Boston over New Years, and they’ve already booked flights to California for the week of Dean’s birthday, but this Christmas, they’ve all agreed, it needs to be only them. 

It’s a definite change from the way they spent it the year before, this much is clear, and it’s not exactly smooth sailing until they figure out how exactly they want to do it. There is consensus that there should be sex, and a lot of it, but seeing as neither of them has ever properly celebrated this holiday, for a while it feels like apart from that, it’s going to be a bit of a let-down.

In the end, it is the day before Christmas eve – “Happy Christmas Eve Eve!” Charlie wished them before leaving them for her girlfriend Dorothee’s place – and there is little more than tense silence in their crowded little apartment. No tree, no lights, certainly no ornaments, and no plans of how they’re actually going to spend the next few days.

Dean is even pretty damn obvious about his hesitance to lock the coffeeshop down for the night, and Castiel even catches him trying to persuade a kind of confused Kevin to stay a little longer.

“It’s almost eight, I don’t want any more coffee,” he keeps insisting, trying to pack his things, while Dean circles him with desperation emoting from him almost unchecked, and continues to say, “We have tea as well, dude, it’s right there in the name **Noveltea & Coffee**. Even herbal stuff if you don’t want any kind of caffeine. Or something with fruit? I don’t know, I can check.”

“Please don’t check, I need to get going or my mom’ll be worried.”

But Castiel still has to physically block Dean from walking behind the counter to go through their tea selection as if it wasn’t all right there on the menu. Dean, who is anxiously wringing his hands around an already mangled towel and actually tries to side-step him, until Castiel finally holds him in place both with his hands and a firm gaze.

“Enough now, Dean, let the poor kid leave.”

“But,” he feebly objects, and it would be adorable if it didn’t make Castiel feel all kinds of bad. Still, first things first.

“Kevin needs to go home to his mother, who is waiting up for him.”

To which the kid actually objects. “Don’t put it like that, dude…”

But a stern glance from Castiel has him hasten to put the rest of his stuff into his bag and hurry out of the coffee shop with a hastily thrown-back, “Merry Christmas or whatever…”

The door falls shut and Castiel breathes out. He doesn’t necessarily let Dean go, but at least it no longer feels like holding him in place in this very unsexy context. Instead, one of his hands drops away and the other turns soothing as he leads Dean towards a table.

“I know it is not a conversation you want to have, Dean,” he carefully nudges his partner to sit down, “but we need to talk about Christmas.”

Dean shoots right back up again with a slightly panicked-sounding, “I need to lock up.”

Castiel grasps his arm again, trying his best to remain calm even in the face of Dean’s emoting.

“No. I mean, yes, but we can do that later.”

Dean sinks back down. Takes a deep breath. Closes his mouth again, and then finally bursts out, “You don’t even _like_ ‘Die Hard’, man!”

And for a moment, Castiel is genuinely put off by that very accurate accusation, and his eyebrows pull together. “Who told you that?”

“No one had to.” Dean looks like he’d rather disappear right through the hardwood floor than repeat what he just said. “I mean, you kept falling asleep when we watched it. I seriously love you for pretending you liked it anyway, but Cas, buddy, love of my life, you’re a _bad liar_.”  

“Okay, so I don’t like your festive movie about things blowing up and sweaty Bruce Willis. I will still more than happily watch it with you, if that’s what you want to do.”

Dean mumbles, “There are sequels.”

Castiel mentally takes in a deep breath, but almost seamlessly adds, “As well as the probably equally ridiculous sequels.”

It is well worth it when Dean finally looks him in the eye, and quietly asks, “You’d do that?”

“I might have to overindulge in eggnog, but if this is your Christmas tradition, I will absolutely be there with you.”

“Oh. Okay. Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good. We’ll have eggnog?”

“Strong stuff,” Castiel nods, perfectly serious. “Self-made. I’m good at it. Is there anything else you are worried about?”

“Uhm, mostly what you want out of this. Christmas at home was kind of your idea, man, and I don’t have a single clue how to celebrate it.”

Now it is Castiel’s turn to look sheepish.

“Well, I know you do not particularly care for Christmas,” Dean looks like he’s about to object, so he quickly goes on, “You can’t deny what I have overheard you saying to at least seven different people over the course of two Decembers. You don’t much like the holiday, and that’s your prerogative.”

“But you do.”

“I really do.”

For a moment, silence reclaims its place between them.

“I do have presents,” Dean finally pipes up. “Uhm. I mean, if that helps.”

“It definitely helps.” Actually, it takes quite a load off Castiel’s shoulders, seeing as, “I have presents for you as well.”

“Awesome. Do you want, like, a tree or something?” Dean’s face enters what Castiel can only call scheming mode. Added with just the right mix of confusion and slight exasperation that Castiel can finally relax about maybe offending him. “Ornaments? Santa hats? _Mistletoe_?”

Castiel’s heart skips a beat, but he knows he really, really needs to play this as cool as he is able, even if Dean can definitely feel his excitement at the subject. He keeps his voice carefully neutral.

“Preferably all of the above, but I completely understand if that’s not something you want to do.”

Dean shakes his head, looking marginally more relaxed.

“No, I’m cool with that.” Then, as a semi-alarmed afterthought, “As long as you don’t totally overdo it. I don’t want the apartment to look like Santa threw up in there, but I guess a tree would be okay. If we can find somewhere to fit it.”

“I’ll even spare you any and all Christmas music.”

“Appreciated,” he hums, but if Castiel isn’t mistaken, actually looks a little disappointed before changing the subject. He decides not to push it at the moment. “I can cook. Not a full bird, maybe, but some sort of roast? With mashed potatoes?”

A real Christmas dinner. Castiel smiles and says, “I would like that.”

“Okay.” Dean nods to himself and gets up, a lot calmer now than before. “Good. Now I need to lock up, and then I need to take you upstairs and ride your face, if that’s okay.”

“I can definitely live with that.”

“Glad we had this talk.”

It’s said in the faux-casual way they both sometimes adopt when they speak about fantastic sex to come in places where they can’t pounce on each other right away, but as Dean resolutely finishes his close-up routine (shooing Cas out of the way occasionally, because this part, he likes to do by himself) Castiel catches him smiling in a way too soft to be about sex. Even fantastic sex to come.


	2. December 24th

December 24th is… hectic. But not necessarily in a bad way. The coffee shop is open until six pm today, and a lot of regulars drop by with season’s greetings, but one of them always misses it, doing last-minute shopping par excellence. Castiel is not officially employed, but Dean has taught him enough for him to confidently take over for a while, and none of the people visiting comment on it.  

When Donna and Jody stop by, it’s Castiel who accepts the gracious donation of a heap of wonderfully decorated Christmas cookies, apple-cinnamon pie and enthusiastic kisses on his cheek. He promises to pass it all on, and expresses Dean’s regrets at not being here. Jody reassures him it’s fine while Donna keeps pinching his cheek exclaiming, “You just tell your Dean-o to share that pie with you, sugar! Oh, I can’t even tell you how happy I am that you guys found each other!”

Claire trudges in a bit later, and ignores Castiel for the most part, but when she leaves, he finds a messily wrapped present with his name on it, and the one he left out for her has disappeared as well. He wasn’t entirely sure if giving her anything was appropriate, but he’s very happy about it now.

Then they switch shifts after Dean pulls up in Bobby’s pick-up truck, an actual Christmas tree in the back. Despite not needing to worry about scratching up the roof of his precious Impala, Dean apparently found finding the right one extremely stressful, because he’d kept sending Castiel pictures with increasing desperation, until they finally settled on one.

“Got one in a pot, Cas,” Dean murmurs against Cas’ lips as they take a moment in the storage closet, “we can replant it when Christmas is over.”

It’s a scraggly little thing, too, that probably wouldn’t have been bought otherwise, and Castiel feels his heart expand three sizes just looking at it.

“Sometimes, I find it hard to express how much I love you, Dean,” he muses, then proceeds to kiss Dean within an inch of his life, leaving him flushed and grinning as Castiel hands over the apron and goes out to buy ornaments.

Death and Tessa show up soon after, and Dean spends a good ten minutes producing the most ridiculously festive frappuccino the world has ever seen, to Death’s obvious grim delight and Tessa’s fond eye-roll. Ignoring his own philosophy, and digging out arcane knowledge of the Muppets Scrooge movie, he yells, “Merry Christmas to us all, God bless us, everyone!” after them.

Benny, Lisa and Ben (he still hasn’t dared ask her if she finds the names confusing sometimes) don’t have a lot of time, apparently on their way to visiting Lisa’s parents, but their Christmas wishes and an actual self-made card are still appreciated, and the sentiment echoed with much less irony.

Kevin actually brings his mother, who shakes Dean’s hand without a smile, but with some sort of warmth nonetheless, and they carry out a whole order of coffees, as well as a bag of Donna’s Christmas cookies.

Sometimes, Dean is almost as unaware of just how much he owes to Castiel as he was in the long months before Gabriel dropped that bomb on him. Sometimes, he forgets and takes it all for granted, and he knows Castiel prefers this, so that’s okay. But there are other times, when it feels so big, and all he can think is that he cannot even begin to comprehend the magic his partner weaves around Dean’s coffee shop every day.

It is Christmas Eve, and people come in in a hurry, as a brief refuge from last-minute Christmas shopping, or to search any means of help possible to make it through celebrations with exhausting family members (here in the form of caffeine to at least keep them on their feet). But as soon as they step through the door, their shoulders drop, their jaws unclench, and their breaths even out.

When they place their order, they do so in a calm, patient manner quite unfitting the stress they ran from. Some of them sit down, pull out a book. He strongly suspects his regulars have conspired against him and sneaked in a few Christmas-themed novels, but when he sees the smiles on people’s faces, he finds he doesn’t mind at all.

In the end, whoever enters this little sanctuary leaves refreshed, and with lingering calm that might even survive the first ten minutes of ignorant relatives.

And Dean can take credit for providing the location, paying the rent and supplying the coffee and books, but this, this is all thanks to Cas and his great big love for all mankind, even those undeserving of it.

Speaking of, if there is one person he had no wish to see today, it is Meg.

Their relationship is both a simple and a complicated one. Simple, because it is made of mutual distain and underlying jealousy, and complicated, because despite this, they see each other all the time, and Castiel won’t hear a bad word about the other from either of them. So sometimes, they bother with gritted teeth forced into something like a smile.

“Clarence dump you in time for the holidays?”, Meg greets him after a calculating look around, and no, apparently, today is not one of those times.

The second she came in – a few weeks ago – she set her eyes on Dean’s partner, and he is not amused. Not at all. Especially because what had taken him an almost literal blow to the head, she sussed out in minutes, being a sensor with a very keen eye for unavailable men too good for her.

“ _Castiel_ is out getting Christmas stuff for our shared apartment, _Meg_ ,” Dean snarls back. In the back of his mind, he tries to keep his emoting to a minimum, despite the sudden surge of intense dislike. Meg is a shield, anyway, and won’t feel it unless he expresses it in words and facial expressions, and the rest of his customers really don’t deserve to have their peace destroyed by petty bickering between two people with a metaphorical and/or literal hard-on for the same person.

“Needed a couple of hours away from you, is more likely. What did you do, boycott the holiday for your own selfish reasons until at the last minute, you realized this might be the last straw in your ailing relationship, and now he’s out there toiling to make up for your shortcomings?”

Usually, Dean doesn’t have a rational explanation for why she gets to him this much, seeing as Castiel has at no point shown her anything other than his usual kindness, and very regularly falls asleep wrapped around Dean in a startling and definitely not unappreciated imitation of a starfish.

But this, right now, hits a little too close to home.

“Why you-…”

Before he can let out the stream of insults he has accumulated over the last few encounters, however, Chuck is there, a hand each on both their shoulders, and saying, “Children, not today.”

And to Dean’s utter bewilderment (because Chuck isn’t even an emoter, as far as he can tell, and he’s definitely too big a mess to ever get involved in other people’s issues) the aggression drains right out of him, and instead, he actually apologizes.

“You’re right, man. This isn’t the time. Sorry, Meg.”

And as if that wasn’t strange enough, she, too, backs off. “Shouldn’t have said that. Went too far.”

Chuck gives them both another long look, suddenly seeming a lot older and graver and wiser than they’ve ever experienced him, and then he goes back to his corner and laptop and becomes a bath-robed mess of an unsuccessful writer again.

“Can I get you some coffee?” Dean distractedly asks the devil-woman in front of him, but she shakes her head.

“No, just wanted to say Merry Christmas and all. He seems like the kind of dork to actually like this crappy holiday. Give him my best, will ya?”

To which Dean actually says, “Yeah, I will,” and she leaves without another mean word.

And when Castiel comes back, two boxes of presumably ornaments and a small bit of mistletoe in his arms, Dean does.

* * *

Before they close the coffeeshop down for the holidays, Dean goes on a quick food-run that spins a little out of control and ends with them having enough stuff to eat to last until they have to leave for Anna and Garth’s place in Boston.

Not the worst thing that could have happened, but their fridge wasn’t made for this much food, and he has to stash some of it downstairs with the milk.

Cas has already brought the tree up, found a corner for it where it almost isn’t in the way, and placed some lights on strategic boughs. He stands next to it, fidgeting with one of the ornament boxes, when Dean comes upstairs. Seeing Dean’s arms full, he immediately drops it back onto the couch and rushes over to help Dean squeeze it all into the appropriate cupboards.

Huffing and puffing and growing a little hot from the heavy wool coat he’s wearing, Dean rants,

“People are fucking crazy on Christmas Eve and no retail worker should ever have to work on this unholy day.” He finally finds a spot for the cream in the fridge, making a mental note to rearrange it all when they have more time, because he does not like it when things aren’t orderly, and Cas tries to act accordingly, but frankly doesn’t give much of a shit himself. “This sweet old lady actually beat me with her walking stick just because I was first to the ham.”

“It’s not an unholy day, but I understand your sentiment,” Cas agrees. From the corner of his eyes, Dean sees him put the potatoes into the wrong drawer, but refrains from commenting. He’ll fix it later.

The fridge door slams closed, and at long last, he can take the coat off, immediately hanging it up on his very special coat-rack, next to Cas’ trench coat. 

“Just promise me that next year, we’ll do all the Christmas shopping way in advance. I swear my soul almost died at how utterly done that cashier was. I left her a tip, but she just looked at those damn five bucks like she’d never seen anything like it before. Who knows if she’ll even get to keep it. Probably has kids waiting at home, and she has to deal with stressed-out lunatics yelling at her for no good damn reason all day.”

The irony that right now, he’s very much acting like a stressed-out lunatic himself is not lost on him, and he really appreciates that instead of calling him out on it, Castiel gives him a quick kiss and says, “I’m glad you’ve made it home.”

Mentally and physically, he breathes out. He is home, now. With Cas. Who is awesome, even if he doesn’t get where potatoes go in Dean’s kitchen. “Yeah, me too, man.”

He’ll just fix it now, then he won’t have to think about it. At least they’ve had the conversation about Dean’s need for the perfect order in his kitchen, and Cas has on several occasions assured him it’s fine if Dean rearranges things, especially since Castiel himself doesn’t cook unless absolutely forced to. Which thankfully hasn’t happened yet since he moved in. He’s very good at cutting things evenly, though, so he often assists Dean.

Dean puts the potatoes into the correct cupboard, and feels his mind settle. “I think we have everything now, if you got all the stuff you need.”

Cas doesn’t answer, and as Dean closes the cupboard and turns to look at him, he sees him standing a little away from Dean, in the doorway to their bedroom.

“I hope this is okay,” he says, sounding uncharacteristically embarrassed, and Dean finally notices the little sprig of mistletoe he’s hung up above him. Dean shrugs, a smile pulling against the corners of his mouth a little against his will.

“Don’t think we actually need that, but I’m down for it.”

Cas doesn’t appear to notice just how much Dean is failing at non-chalance. Instead, he’s nervously treading in place, looking anywhere other than Dean, who is slowly coming closer.  

“I just-… have not allowed myself to fantasize about this last year. And now it’s all I can think about. I know it’s cheesy, but just once, I’d like to kiss you underneath some mistletoe.”

He looks up just in time to follow Dean’s hand with his eyes before Dean cups his chin. Sometimes, just sometimes, he likes acting like some romance novel hero soothing the bashful damsel into a damn great kiss. He even lowers his voice and everything, even though he can’t quite get rid of the playfulness in it.

“We can definitely do that.”

And Dean has never, not once in his life thought about any sort of mistletoe kisses with anyone, because mistletoe never played a part in his life, nor a longtime steady partner he wants to spend the rest of his life with, but this? This is all sorts of okay. Because he’ll never get used to the wonder in Cas’ eyes, even as they grow hooded and heavy with want, and the way it makes his own heart threaten to break his chest, his knees grow weaker.

“Yeah?” Cas asks breathlessly as Dean inches closer.

“Yeah.” Dean nods, merely a tiny little inclination of his head. Just before his own lips touch Cas’, he stops. Whispers, “Hey, Cas.”

“Hm?” Cas almost whimpers, but for once, does not take charge.

“Mistletoe.”

Dean swallows a happy little ‘Oh’ from eager lips.

* * *

Later, comfortably wrapped around each other underneath the blankets, Castiel murmurs something against Dean’s hairline, and it takes him a moment of dazed serenity to understand he just said, “You’re planning for next Christmas, already.”

“Hm?” Dean sleepily smacks his lips, running a lazy hand over Cas’ hand on his stomach. “Yeah. Nothing last minute, promise me. Plenty of communication I don’t like but apparently really need beforehand.”

Cas’ other hand is loosely wrapped around Dean’s shoulder, and it tightens for a moment. “No, I mean, you’re planning a year ahead with me.”

Which is finally enough to at least somewhat stir him out of his post-sex stupor and turn just enough to face Cas. He can’t quite scrunch up the energy to frown, feeling altogether too soft for such nonsense right now, but maybe Cas’ll feel a little of his incredulity.

“Course I am. Didn’t I make myself clear enough that this is kind of a forever deal for me?”

He kind of thought they’ve already had this conversation. Maybe he’s never said it in so many words, but surely, this is something Cas knows, right? But Cas doesn’t do much more than tilt his head at him, and it’s throwing Dean off a little. Just a little, because to his own great surprise, he usually feels pretty damn secure in this relationship. “I mean, if that’s what you want, too.”

Cas’ face melts into the kind of happy smile that never fails to make Dean feel like he’s the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.

“I don’t think there can be any doubt about that.”

Their hands intertwine on Dean’s stomach and Dean settles back against him, and allows himself to droop back into sated afterglow.

“See? So I’m planning next Christmas. And Christmas in five years. And maybe Christmas in thirty.”

“You don’t even like Christmas.”

It’s barely even a shrug, but honestly, Dean can’t be bothered to actually disturb his momentary extreme comfort with actual movement. “I like you. And it’s not so bad. Tree’s kind of nice.”

“I haven’t decorated it yet. Would you like to be involved in this process?”

Dean’s eyes snap open.

“Don’t push your luck.”

* * *

It takes them another half hour and another lazy make-out session to get out of bed. Dean gets started on making dinner, and Castiel begins to pull out ornaments. He probably spent too long on the aisle examining which types to buy, but he’s happy with his selection. Most of them are just simple red ball ornaments and a few golden stars, but he also invested in some coffee cup shaped ones that he thought Dean would find amusing.

Truth be told, there aren’t many branches that are strong enough to carry any of it, so it remains rather minimalist in nature, but he suspects Dean will like it better this way, and he has certainly grown very fond of this scraggly little tree himself.

“You’re doing just fine,” he tells it between ornaments. “We’re happy to have you in our home, little Christmas tree.”

“What did you just say?”, Dean calls from the kitchen, where he is frying onions.

“I told our tree it’s beautiful.”

Dean only hums in acknowledgement, but after transferring the onions into a bowl to keep them warm, he walks over and stands next to Castiel to inspect his work. He nods, kisses Castiel’s cheek, and says, “Yup, tree, you’re pretty.”

Then, he steps closer to the tree. And closer. Frowns, turns around and asks, “Are those coffee cups?”

“I got them for you. I hope you like them.”

When Dean turns back around, he is practically beaming.

“Freaking awesome, man. Do they have books, too?”

“I didn’t see any at the store, but it was all rather last minute. Maybe next year.”

“Awesome.”

Dean fiddles with the ornaments a bit more (and Castiel is pretty sure he’s adjusting them a little, too, to make the space filled more evenly, the dork), then he steps, back, looks at the whole thing, and asks, 

“Hey, uhm, you got an angel or a star or something for the top?”

It’s still said in the same carefree way he’s commented on the rest of the tree, but by now, Castiel knows him well enough this is not how his partner looks when he doesn’t really care either way.

“Of course, Dean.”

“Can I hang it up?”

Castiel unpacks the last piece, a simple silver shooting star, and Dean takes it from him with strange reverence. It’s not a tall tree, and the top is somewhat crooked, and Dean doesn’t even really have to reach up at all to place the ornament on it.

He steps back.

For a moment, they just stand there, side by side, admiring their tree.

“Let me just turn off the lights real quick.”

Dean rushes off, and within a moment, the only light remaining is the warm glow of the Christmas tree, shimmering on and reflecting off the ornaments, and making Dean look about six times more beautiful than usual, which is a difficult feat to accomplish indeed.

It’s probably his eyes, which are very wide, and the way his jawline has dropped into something so soft it almost looks like he’s trembling. He looks younger than Castiel has ever seen him, and after a moment, Castiel cautiously steps closer to where he is still standing, one hand on the light switch.

“Dean?”

He stops inches before touching Dean’s arm, for once completely unable to read what Dean needs. He’s emoting freely, but it is such a curious, somehow terrible, somehow wondrous mix of emotions Castiel cannot identify a single one among them. Just starts trembling along with Dean, and feel his own eyes well up.

“Haven’t had a Christmas tree since Mom died.”

And Castiel can feel something inside him ringing clear, like a bell being struck. A small hammer. Then, vibrating sound, sharp and strong and almost too bright. Beautiful, but stirring at something incredibly painful nonetheless.

There have been few topics they haven’t breached within the thirteen months they’ve known each other – be it in the long months of growing friendship and heavy mutual pining, or within their relationship since – but Mary Winchester is one of them. Dean has spoken of his father; different, conflicting accounts of both a loving parent and a guy not cut out to look after himself, let alone two kids. Castiel had been immensely grateful for every single instance when Dean felt comfortable enough to share this much.

But he has never mentioned his mother, safe for giving Castiel the general gist of it, which is Mary dying suddenly and unexpectedly when Dean was eight.

He is a prize idiot for not understanding sooner that Dean’s dislike of what can be considered a traditional Christmas celebration is most likely more than connected to memories of his mother. To a happy childhood completely erased as soon as she was gone.

Even now, understanding this, Castiel cannot find the words to say to Dean that might help him through this. Not even an apology or an expression of regret, because despite the deeply rooted grief slowly pouring out of a crack in a carefully-erected wall, Dean is also obviously reliving good memories long buried behind it, like warm little flares. The good kind of sadness.

Not daring to actually take Dean into his arms and disturb these memories, or even worse, make him feel condescended to, he brushes his hand against Dean’s, and is relieved beyond belief that Dean doesn’t hesitate in grabbing it.

He still has his eyes trained on the Christmas tree, but he does keep talking. It hardly sounds like his voice at all. Higher. Younger. With the slight tinge of a stronger accent in it. A little lost and a little like a kid who just discovered something beautiful for the first time.

“She had this ornament. Mom. For the top of the tree. Told us angels were watching over us.” A small laugh, or something like it, anyways. “Don’t know where that went. Maybe Bobby still has it somewhere.”

He stops talking and doesn’t begin again, like it’s the only thing he was going to say on the subject, so Castiel carefully and quietly suggests, “If you’d like, we can ask him.”

Dean breathes in deeply, and doesn’t quite shake his head. His voice sounds a little more like his own.

“Don’t want to push that shooting star off the tree, man. You bought that.”

“There are more places for shooting stars than just the tops of Christmas trees, Dean,” Castiel reassures him as gently as he is able. “It won’t go unappreciated.”

The next breath is shuddering, like Dean hasn’t allowed himself to breathe this deeply in years.

“I’d be nice,” he eventually says. “If we could have Mom’s angel here. Maybe next year. I mean, I guess she’d like that.” He briefly turns to Castiel, and somewhat awkwardly bumps their shoulders together. “Us, too. You being a literal angel and all.”

 _I’ll watch over you_ , Castiel instantly thinks. He normally cringes at this colloquial nickname for people with altruistic abilities, but in this moment, he’ll gladly accept the moniker. He doesn’t say it, of course. It’s not something you say, even if you mean it with all your heart.

Instead, he squeezes Dean’s hand a little tighter, and maybe Dean understands anyways. His head drops onto Castiel’s shoulder.

For a long time, they just look at the tree in silence. Each lost in their own thoughts, but safely together nonetheless.

 _I’ll watch over him_ , Castiel promises a woman he will never have the chance to meet.

 _We’ll watch over each other._   


	3. December 25th

Unlike the year before, Kansas is not blessed with a blanket of snow this Christmas Day. The entire month has been milder, and disappointing as it may be, Castiel doesn’t wake to the quiet fall of snowflakes.

(He does, however, wake up to Dean’s mouth on him, so he’s really not complaining.)

It’s kind of nice, actually. That this is just a first Christmas spent together, and more winters will come. Future days where he can talk Dean into sleighrides outside the city, and listen to him grump his way through miles and miles of undisturbed white plains, until finally, he tackles Castiel with a snowball. Where they’ll make their way back slowly soaking through by melting snow, bickering about whose fault it is that they’ll both end up with a cold, and finally find a place to warm up (maybe at a fireplace) with some mulled wine.

For most of his adult life, Castiel has not allowed himself fantasies about simple human interaction within a relationship, but since Dean made it abundantly clear he is in this for the long haul (and last evening, though the most explicit he’s gotten on the subject, was not actually the first time he indicated this), Castiel has begun wanting everything.

Absolutely everything with this wonderful, miraculous man, who is looking at him now with an endearing blush, partially due to recent orgasm, and partially because he actually appears to be a little embarrassed.

“Sorry I went all emo on you last night,” he says after a while, head propped up on his arms on Castiel’s stomach. Castiel’s fingers still in Dean’s hair.

“What do you mean?”

Dean isn’t quite meeting his eyes.

“That stuff about my mom. You didn’t need to hear that.”

Castiel sits up a little, dislodging Dean from his stomach.

“Dean, I-…” Dean has rolled onto his back and is staring at the ceiling. He seems to be slipping from embarrassed to downright miserable, which Castiel will not stand for. “Please come up here and look at me,” he asks with a hopefully reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder. After a moment, Dean complies, settling on his side until they’re facing each other on the mattress. Castiel takes his hand in the warm space between them.

“What about our previous interaction has led you to believe I don’t want you to open up about things that matter to you? I was glad you allowed me to see this side of you last night, Dean.”

Dean still looks insecure, but at least he no longer avoids Castiel’s eyes.

“Yeah, but I kind of ruined the mood, didn’t I?”

“What mood? Christmas? The most nostalgic time of the year? Where people remember their loved ones and forever chase that warm feeling the holiday evoked within them when they were young? I can assure you, you did not.”

He leans in for a kiss, and Dean meets him in the middle. It’s the almost unbearably soft kind, that’s barely more than closed lips pressing together and noses brushing. In all the time they have spent together, Cas has yet to find a kiss they’ve shared that doesn’t instantly become one of his favorites, and this one is definitely no exception, morning breath and remnants of a salty taste on Dean’s lips notwithstanding. He can feel Dean smile against his lips, and now, it definitely makes his top ten.

After a comfortable while in which Castiel pulls the blankets over both of them before settling back into the same position, Dean asks, “What was Christmas like for you as a kid?”

“Nowhere near as good as this one,” is Castiel’s immediate answer. Dean looks at him questioningly and runs his thumb over the knuckles of Cas’ hand.

Castiel sighs.

“If you need to know, my own version of warm Christmas glow comes almost exclusively from the movies Anna and I would watch after my mother went to bed. My mother wasn’t the sentimental type, and my father was long gone by the time I was old enough to celebrate the holiday, so there wasn’t much more than dinner and church. Gabriel, of course, was older than us and had friends to celebrate with, but he brought back candy and chocolate sometimes. It wasn’t bad, but this? This is-… by far superior.”

Dean smiles and cups the side of Castiel’s face with his free hand. Castiel presses a quick kiss to it, and then fixates Dean with a quite serious look again.

“It is, however, perfectly alright if you decide you’d rather not celebrate again next year.” He thinks about it for a moment, then concedes, “Though to be fair, that means we can definitely never visit my sister and her family on Christmas, since I believe Garth may have seen more Christmas movies than even I have, and absorbed three times the spirit.”

Dean’s smile broadens and Castiel breathes out.

“In all honesty, Dean. As long as I’m with you, it will be a good way of spending those days, tree and mistletoe and presents or not.”

Dean is quiet for a moment, but he seems busier stroking Castiel’s stubble than actually thinking about it. Eventually, he says, “No, it’s good. For me, too. It’s really-… It’s good.”

And that’s that.

* * *

The rest of the morning passes slowly and comfortably beneath warm covers, until they are finally driven out of this sanctuary by growling stomachs reminding them they didn’t really get around to the dinner they’d planned yesterday.

Castiel takes a shower as Dean makes them eggs with bacon and toast and puts his presents for Cas under the tree.

He’s feeling-… surprisingly settled. It wasn’t a lie or an exaggeration that this Christmas was turning out to be kind of nice, even if it had stirred up memories about his mom that he hadn’t looked at too closely in years. They’re not bad, though, and maybe it’s okay that they hurt a little, because his mom would probably kind of rude that he has been actively avoiding thinking about her. And they’re also really great. And it’s also really great that Cas is the absolutely honey-sweetest guy that ever lived and actually encourages Dean to feel stuff.

He is very late in getting the roast started, but if they eat a decent amount of breakfast now – and Dean has every intention of doing just that – it’ll last until then. Besides, there’s always Donna’s cookies and pie.

Dean keeps breakfast warm in the oven as he switches places with Cas and takes a quick shower of his own, while Cas gets them coffee from downstairs and presumably also takes a present or two out of their shared super-secret hiding space (under the bed).

Cas’ hair right after a shower is one of Dean’s favorite things about living together, because it’s basically sex-hair to the extreme, and he can’t resist running his hand through it as he comes back out to the table. He even squats in front of Cas for a moment and sculpts it into even better disarray, to Castiel’s indulgent grin and slight head-shake.

“Yup, that’s my guy,” he says when he is finally happy with the state of Castiel’s hair, and then finally sits down to take a bite of the bacon and egg toast sandwich Cas has assembled for him. The ratio of bacon to eggs is perfect and there are even a few thin lines of maple syrup drizzled over the thing.

Castiel smiles at him over his coffee cup and his eyes crinkle underneath the perfect bed-head. 

Yup, that’s Dean’s guy, and that’s Dean’s life. Fucking _good_.

* * *

They agree to wait with presents until the roast is in the oven, and for a while, work in comfortable silence side by side, Castiel slicing the ingredients, Dean tendering and marinating the meat and occasionally pre-frying things. From the way their apartment smells already, it will be a very good Christmas meal indeed.

Dean even rummages around in his record collection, then begrudgingly in his CD collection, and eventually produces **Santamental** by a Steve Lukather, which is a rather enjoyable instrumental Christmas album recorded by who Dean tells him is the guitarist of ‘Toto’. (Castiel doesn’t quite dare tell him he has no idea who ‘Toto’ is. It seems like a conversation for another day.)

When there is nothing more for Castiel to do, he makes a long video call to Anna and Garth and their kids, the latter waving at him almost as enthusiastically as Garth does, and Anna smiling happily next to them with the occasional interjection when the twins and her husband’s stories grow too unbelievable.

“I hope it’s alright I’m bringing their presents with me and didn’t send them via the post office,” Castiel tells Anna after the twins have lost interest and have talked their dad into building a snowman out of what meager snowfall they’ve had (Garth does not take long to convince).

“Of course, Castiel. They’ll be delighted to get something after Christmas is already officially over.”

“Is there any protocol to observe? Should I pretend Santa misplaced them or invent a similar scenario?”

Anna’s mouth quirks. “Uhm, not for Michael and Luc’ sake. They’re mostly just playing along so that their dad isn’t completely heartbroken.”

“So the elves found them while cleaning up the workshop is the story we’re going with?” Castiel deadpans, and Anna answers just as gravely, “Absolutely.”

“Hey, Anna,” Dean leans over the chair behind Castiel and waves at the camera. He’s emoting a moderate amount of nervousness, as he always does whenever Castiel’s sister as much as comes up in conversation. (“I already don’t like your brother, and he isn’t my biggest fan either. I just really want things to go well with your sister,” he admitted once.)

They’re about to meet for the first time in a few days, and Castiel honestly can’t believe they won’t get along, initial awkwardness aside. In a different universe, they might even have hooked up at some point. But Dean is definitely a bit of an endearing mess about it.

(If anything, Castiel sees Garth as a bigger problem, as Dean is definitely not a hugger unless it’s someone he knows very well and he’s the one initiating it. Or it’s Castiel, who gets to hug him whenever he wants to. The same rules apply to Charlie. And probably Donna. And Dean is probably more of a teddy bear than he’d admit, but the point stands: Garth may not go over so well.)

“Merry Christmas,” Dean adds, a bit awkwardly, as if he’s never unironically said that before, and Castiel takes his hand.  

* * *

The video call with Gabriel – who is apparently making it an annual tradition to spend the holidays on some exotic island with a woman much too pretty for him and very clearly too genuinely interested in him for Castiel to want to know the reasons why – contains less halting conversation and more bickering, as he and Dean have already established quite the repertoire, and all Castiel needs to do is sit back and benevolently shake his head.

Then Dean wonders if he should call Sam, and then Sam calls and they talk animatedly for a half-hour. Not necessarily about Christmas – though Castiel gathers that apparently, Sam is celebrating it with Jess and her parents – but definitely with warmth.  

By the time they find the time to exchange presents, the apartment smells mouth-wateringly good, and the sun is setting the last of some straggling wisps of snow-less clouds on fire. The only lights they have on are the ones on the Christmas tree, and their apartment looks wonderfully festive, small as it is.

“So, uhm,” Dean says, “I kind of got something I want to give to you last. Like, after all the other things.”

From what Dean is emoting, it doesn’t even feel like it might be a sexy kind of gift, but he’s undeniably kind of nervous about it. Excited, too, if Castiel reads him right.

“I have one of those as well. It’s something to look forward to,” he smiles, and Dean grins his answer.

One of the things about living together is that you begin sharing wrapping paper. The kind Castiel bought for Christmas is dark blue, with dreamily drawn small, fat and happy winter birds on it, surrounded by white dots that are supposed to resemble the snowfall they’re lacking this year. It’s probably too cheesy for Dean, but he did take care to go for a winter theme rather than full-on Christmas, and Dean hasn’t complained.

Still, despite being the same paper, their presents are very differently wrapped. Castiel himself has taken a long time to get the edges lined up correctly, and the duct tape hidden as best as possible, but still, they came out a little wonky, with some wrinkles and misshapen proportions. Dean’s, on the other hand, are the neatest wrappings Castiel has ever seen, efficient and symmetrical, probably done in a fraction of the time Castiel took, and infinitely more pleasing to the eye.

Still, Dean picks up one of Castiel’s gifts (this one with an additional lopsided red bow) with the brightest of smiles, and then begins tearing into it like a child, unearthing the first of the things Castiel got for him. It’s hardly the most original of presents – new oven mitts with the droids from a certain space epic printed on them – but Dean beams and immediately slips them on. “Awesome, Cas! Puttin’ the fun in functional!”

He pats them together a few times, tests their flexibility and thickness, and then he places them on both sides of Castiel’s head and draws him in for a kiss.

Castiel is much slower at unwrapping – there is something about reverently unearthing a secret that is almost better than any secret itself – but he is certain his eyes glow like a child’s as well. He finally pulls the intact paper off, and uncovers a pair of sky-blue socks with cheerily smiling bees on them.

“Uhm, I commissioned them from Donna. Hope that’s okay.”

Castiel looks at them for a long moment, wondering where he’s seen these cartoonish honey-bees before. Not that his love and fascination for bees is a secret, but this particular pattern seems familiar. Finally, he narrows his eyes at Dean.   

“They look like the wrapping for your birthday present.”

Dean’s red ears are wonderfully contrasted against his pale arm as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, well… I might still have that somewhere.”

There are practical presents – Castiel gets a packet of nice t-shirts in basic colors; Dean gets a special kind of carving tool he once asked Bobby for – there are presents useful for both of them – Dean bought the first two ‘The Mummy’ movies, which (despite the glaring historical errors) they’d actually both enjoyed greatly; Castiel purchased an additional set of sheets – and there are books. Of course there are books.

To Castiel’s great delight, Dean got him a beautiful edition of A. A. Milne’s **_Winnie The Pooh_** , and the rest of the presents are forgotten for a good long while as they discuss their favorite characters and who they actually resemble. (Dean is clearly Tigger, and after a while also concedes to being a little like Kanga and a little like Rabbit. His favorite inhabitant of the Hundred Acre Wood is, to Castiel’s surprise, Eeyore, while Castiel loves Piglet the most, and gladly accepts sharing some personality traits with Pooh Bear himself.)

In the same vein as this is the Astrid Lindgren novel Castiel gives to Dean, **_The Brothers Lionheart_**. While also technically a children’s book, it fell into Castiel’s hand on a recent shopping trip, and reading it much reminded him of the way Dean took care of Sam for most of his life. It’s a sad book, but also full of adventure and good triumphing over bad, even at horrible cost, and its very cornerstone is the relationship between the two brothers, so he hopes Dean will enjoy it nonetheless.

Castiel has bought Dean a simple and subtle edition of Charlotte Brontë’s **_Jane Eyre_** , which despite his oft-professed attraction to the male main character, Dean hasn’t previously dared purchase and instead devoured in libraries and bookshops and (the first time) apparently in one of his girlfriends’ bedroom while she was out.

He gets a collection of Edgar Allan Poe and Langston Hughes’ poetry respectively, both of which he enjoys a lot, if for different reasons.

Lastly – at least before the final present, which Castiel put aside for later – there is Paul Auster’s **_The Book of Illusions_** , which neither of them have read, but both picked up during their last trip to a bookstore. Technically, it’s another one of Castiel’s gifts to Dean, but they’re both curious about it.

It is entirely possible they have both spent too much money on each other, but never in a million years will Castiel not deem it worth it, seeing Dean happy and excited surrounded by stacks of presents.

Before they get to the grand finale, Dean checks on the deliciously steaming food and deems it will be ready in forty minutes.

Settling back down opposite each other near enough to the Christmas tree to count as being underneath it, they agree to give each other their final present at the same time. It’s wonderfully childish, hiding something behind your back and exchanging it quickly and on the count of three, not unlike the trading of hostages in one of Dean’s beloved movies.

Not for the first time, he marvels at how this became his life. Celebrating Christmas with Dean Winchester, most luminous of beings, in their shared apartment.

Later, they will find out that they fell victims to a conspiracy. Not pertaining to their lives, but pertaining to their presents for each other. Charlie and Claire apparently got to talking one day, when neither Dean nor Castiel was around, and out of an idea a diabolical plan was born. A plan made with the best of intentions, of course, but mostly to the amusement of both participants nonetheless.

Charlie dropped hints, Claire dropped a book, and because Dean and Castiel are clearly the most easily manipulated fools in love their little big world of books and coffee and magic has ever seen, they are now exchanging parcels of equal size and weight, even if of a different wrapping style.

Castiel is much quicker at unwrapping this one, if only because suspicion is stirring inside him, and as soon as the thin novel falls into his hands, he lets out a single, joyful laugh as Dean opposite him says, “Motherfucker.” Softly and with feeling.

It’s John Steinbeck, of course. **_‘Cannery Row’_**. The book Castiel read half in secret, because a few pages in he already knew this was the present he wanted to give Dean for Christmas. The one that would mean the most.

There is a small moment in which they disbelievingly shake their heads at each other, twinkly eye contact turning into a shared grin.

Then they each turn back to their respective book and flip open the first page to read the hand-written dedication.

Castiel knows what his own says. He knows the carefully chosen, heartfelt proclamations he’s made, the thoughtful correlations he’s drawn between the characters and Dean. But he will gladly admit, Dean’s inscription surpasses his by far.

 

_“Cas,_

_I’m not good with words like you are, and I literally only just read this book for the first time, so you still win at the whole best present ever thing. But it’s a story about good people trying to do good things for each other, and I think you’ll like it. Because that’s kind of your thing, seeing the good and doing the good and being the good in the world._

_Merry Christmas, you dork._

_Love you._

_Dean.”_

 

Yes, Castiel surmises, letting a stray tear run its happy course before Dean kisses it away. Worse Christmases have been had.

“You know,” Dean muses, playfully booping Cas’ nose, “At this rate, we’ll run out of meaningful stuff to give each other by our tenth anniversary.”

Castiel huffs and poke’s Dean’s side (ignoring Dean’s half-hearted ticklish response of ‘Hey!’).  

“By our tenth anniversary, I will have established an annual tradition of watching ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ and ‘Love Actually’ in addition to ‘Die Hard’, so I can live with that.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean rears back in the single most overdramatic gesture Castiel has ever seen, making Castiel laugh a loud and boisterous laugh. “A traditional Christmas movie, I can live with,” Dean goes on, still emphatically shaking his head, “But a chick flick? Not in million years.”

But Castiel has a feeling Dean loves ‘chick flicks’.

(It doesn’t take until their tenth anniversary to prove he is right.)

“Whatever you say, Dean.”

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note about my universe: I have been very unsure if I wanted 'Noveltea & Coffee' to take place in a universe where Christianity plays as big a role as it does in most of our western world. In the end, Christmas was the only reason I did choose to let it. Because I accidentally started writing a Christmas chapter and then liked it. Also, I love Christmas and the way it is sometimes celebrated, all religious connotations aside. 
> 
> I am currently working on a huge project (possibly my DCBB 2018) which is set in a different kind of magical universe and will have its own belief system, so I've decided to keep it like this here. 
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING!


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